


An Informal Appointment

by Still_and_Clear



Series: In the Basin [5]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Conversation, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Healing, Trauma, Will/Frederick friendship, sort of pre-Fred Squared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 12:36:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2068470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_and_Clear/pseuds/Still_and_Clear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will pays Frederick a visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Informal Appointment

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place earlier in this series, while Frederick is still in hospital and before his relationship with Freddie. I wrote the first few chapters too fast because I wanted to pair him up with Freddie and put a smile on his face - and belatedly realised that there was some other stuff I would like to have done first. 
> 
> I kind of like the idea of Will and Frederick at least being cordial. God knows they could both use more friends :D

Frederick lay propped against his pillows, staring disconsolately at the wall in front of him. He was _tired_ of being in hospital. He was tired of the uncomfortable bed, tired of the smell of antiseptic, tired of smelling _like_ antiseptic, tired of the food, tired of the hospital gown. He badly wanted to be at home, in his own pyjamas, and in his own bed. He fiddled with the edge of his blanket, and wondered whether Miss Lounds would be as willing to visit him there as she had been in the hospital – and felt a flush slowly prickle up the back of his neck. 

A creak at the door distracted him, and he turned his head to see Will Graham standing in the doorway, leaning heavily on a cane and looking as broken and empty-eyed as Frederick had ever seen him – even in all the time he had spent in his hospital. Frederick blinked. There was an awkward, expectant silence. He had passed some of his time in recovery thinking about exactly what he wanted to say to Will after what he had done to him: handing him over to Jack Crawford when he – Frederick - had been the _only_ person to believe he was innocent, well..... _after_ Will had convinced him of his innocence. But still! _His_ therapy had helped Will recover his memories of Hannibal’s manipulations. _He_ had been willing to move Gideon – of all people – back to his hospital to prove Graham’s story. And what had he got in return? Jack Crawford bellowing his name and firing shots at his back while he had staggered through the snow.

Looking at Will Graham, though - his eye contact worse than ever and his knuckles white on his cane – he found the prospect of berating him had lost some of its appeal. For the time being, anyway. He sighed, and gestured to Will to come into the room. With a cautious expression on his face, Will walked slowly forward and began – as usual – without any normal preamble.

"I wanted to be somewhere _else_ ", he breathed. "And my usual place is……tainted." 

Frederick wondered whether his usual place – he presumed this was the mental space he had fled to during their therapy sessions – had involved Hannibal or the late Abigail Hobbs, or maybe the injured Dr Bloom, and found himself appalled anew at the sheer range of Hannibal’s destructiveness. "Feel free," he said, tightly. Will walked closer to the bed and pulled Miss Lounds’ chair – the chair – Frederick corrected himself internally, further away, and angled it towards the wall a little. Frederick felt his right hand flex automatically, wanting to note this behaviour in his notepad out of habit.

"Miss Lounds told me what happened," Frederick said. He winced a little at how abrupt that had sounded in the quiet room. He felt he should offer sympathy, somehow, but the usual platitudes seemed ridiculously trite, given the magnitude of the damage that has been wrought.

"I imagine Freddie was keen to be the first to break the news," Will said, smiling ruefully. "Has she been pestering you for an exclusive?" 

"Miss Lounds's visits have not been unwelcome," Frederick retorted defensively, realising a fraction too late that he had said far too much by aiming for too little – even though evasion was a pointless exercise where the gifted Will Graham was concerned.

Will’s eyebrows raised delicately, considering him. "She was … helpful in progressing the case against Hannibal," he said. "She didn’t believe you were the Ripper, and kept on my heels like a terrier - she’s dedicated, I’ll say that for her. Rifling through my barn when she thought I was a killer. She was terrified when I arrived – even pulled a gun on me. I had to smash her car window and drag her back to the house to explain everything."

Frederick stared back at him. The notion of Freddie Lounds scared did not fit with his memory of her in the observatory, and he found the idea made him strangely angry. The image of her being dragged from her car, struggling and screaming, bothered him badly, and he shut his eyes against it. Will’s voice broke into his thoughts and Frederick looked over to see him regarding him speculatively. 

"If it hadn’t been me, Frederick, then it would have been …him, and we both know what he’s capable of. And while I find Freddie’s principles…questionable – I wouldn’t have wanted that for her." 

"Kind of you," Frederick snapped, unable to bite his tongue. Will’s look turned suddenly knowing – a small, amused smile on his lips, and now Frederick felt painfully obvious. He wondered, dismally, whether all his patients found him so transparent. Will had certainly managed to bring Frederick round to his way of thinking easily enough when he had been his patient, enticing him with the prospect of professional acclaim. 

"Did you sell your story to _both_ of us?" he asked suddenly. 

Will’s smile answered him. "You’re not _dissimilar_ – you and Freddie," he said. 

"Knowing your low opinion of us both, that’s _hardly_ a compliment, is it, Mr Graham?" Frederick drawled. 

Will shrugged. "I thought you might be pleased," he replied, glancing slyly through his lashes. Frederick glared at him balefully. 

"There are worse people you could resemble," Will offered, the smile sliding from his face, and the emptiness returning to his eyes.

Frederick recalled, with a creeping sense of shame, that he _had_ wanted to resemble Hannibal. Professionally, socially, even his wardrobe of late. He had envied him his effortless success as much as he had resented it. 

"What was it like?" He asked Will, impulsively. 

Will narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Like?" 

" _Knowing_ him. Seeing through his eyes", Frederick replied. "When you did that……. thing you do." 

"Horrifying," Will said. And then, much quieter, a breath vibrating like a taut bow string, " _liberating_." 

Frederick frowned, his professional side asserting itself, and he felt seized with a genuine concern for him. "I know you apparently hold my professional abilities in contempt, Mr Graham," he said, "but I do hope your rehabilitation here has involved counselling as well as _mundane_ physical therapies." 

Will let out a huff of disbelief and looked sidelong at him. "I can’t _imagine_ why, but I have some…trust issues with psychiatrists." 

Frederick smiled sourly. "Regardless of what you might think, Will, I did want to help you regain your stability." 

"And the fame from all the journal articles that would come with that?" Will asked, voice laced with sarcasm. 

"Merely a _delightful_ by-product," Frederick responded, with a wry smile. Will settled a little more comfortably in the chair, and Frederick wondered when he’d last talked to anyone who wasn’t a nurse or FBI. 

"I’m sure fame is likewise a delightful side benefit to Freddie in her _indefatigable_ search for the truth," said Will, smirking slightly.

Frederick glanced down at his hands resting on the blanket. "Has Miss Lounds been to see you?" he asked – in what he hoped was a casual tone. 

Will shook his head. "She only stopped by once on her way to visit you." 

Frederick felt a little rush of warmth at the knowledge that he hadn’t simply been second place to Will Graham on some list of prize interviewees and puffed his chest a little - a small, pleased smile on his face. He turned back to continue the conversation and caught Will’s eyes on him – clearly entertained by what he was seeing. 

"What time will she be here?" Will asked airily, apparently deciding to press his advantage and enjoy Frederick’s discomfiture. 

"4 o’clock," Frederick replied, too quickly. Will’s smile widened further, and Frederick regarded him sourly. He hoped he was at least getting some therapeutic benefit out of embarrassing him. 

" _Well_ " said Will, drawing the word out teasingly. "It’s 3.45 now – and I’m sure I need my rest." He slowly rose from the chair, fumbling awkwardly with the cane and leaning heavily on the chair arms for support. Frederick watched him limp to the door and stop momentarily, ostensibly to rest, his face in profile against the light from the hallway. There was a moment of silence. 

"You can stop by again, Mr Graham," said Frederick. He let some of his usual tartness bleed in to his tone: "You let me use your shower, after all - I must owe you some hospitality." Will turned his head fractionally, the corner of his mouth slanted upwards in a half-smile, and Frederick could see that his eyes at least looked slightly less empty as he set off slowly back to his own room. He wondered if he could count it as a professional high point.


End file.
